Gray
by Heath07
Summary: SethRyan. (Slash, semi-smutty.) It's so easy to fall into gray.


  
  


Title: Gray 

Rating: R

Summary: Ryan/Seth. 

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of The O.C. or the obscure (and vague) movie reference. 

Notes: This is slash. Do not read it if you don't like that type of thing.

________________

Sandy could feel the change in weather. He'd had a screw put into his knee after a big linebacker took him out of a game by whatever means necessary. That was the end of his football days and now he can feel it in his bones when a storm is brewing.  
  


There was a change coming. He shivered and shook it off.   
  


"Hey, Mr. Cohen," Ryan said, as he slid the back door closed.   
  


"Oh, hey Ryan," Sandy said, distractedly as he searched for his keys.  
  


"Is Seth around?"  
  


"You know, I think he's in his room. Why don't you go on up? Kirsten and I have to go to a fund-raiser so you're on your own for dinner, but I'm sure you can manage."   
  


"It shouldn't be a problem."  
  


Sandy smiled. "Good. I'll see you later, Ryan."  
  


"See ya." Ryan heard the door click and the engine turn over before the vehicle hummed softly until it was out of range.   
  


He took his time on the steps to examine photographs that lined the walls. There were a lot of family portraits taken at some fancy photographer's studio by some guy probably named Pierre who spoke in a fake french accent and wore his hair a little too long and had a thin goatee. There were others of just Seth. They had a more homey feel to them. These were ones taken by a normal camera catching moments in time.   
  


Seth's first birthday; a chubby infant with cake crumbs and frosting coating his plump cheeks. His first day of school; a blue blazer with a yellow crest and a missing tooth smile. More birthday's, more first's ran up the length of the stairs until he came to the end and the most recent of the pictures. A picture taken recently; a lonely smile, a slight awkwardness in his stance and sadness rimming his eyes.   
  


Ryan stared at that picture a long time before he stepped down the hall and knocked on Seth's door.  
  


"It's open."  
  


Ryan stepped into the room. Some obscure Punk tune played in the background. "Hey."  
  


Seth spared a look away from his computer screen to stare at Ryan. And it was a stare, not a quick glance because somewhere between meeting him and moving in Seth began to notice how Ryan looked. "Hey, man. What brings you to these parts?" he joked.  
  


Ryan had been smoking because the air around him was heavy with fog and the bitter zip of tobacco.  
  


Seth's eyebrows went up as the smell of smoke--blended with spicy collogue--hit him. "Still smoking, I see."   
  


Ryan's look was so sharp Seth could slash his wrists on him and drown in his bloodless stare. 

And yet there was something in the slight crease of his forehead and the way he shifted his weight nervously that made him look...guilty.  
  


"I'm trying to quit, it's just...hard."  
  


There was something haunting in the storm of Ryan's eyes that made Seth wonder just what those eyes had seen. Just what did they know?  
  


"It's no problem, just don't let my mom catch you doing it," Seth said over his shoulder.  
  


Ryan remained quiet. His silence told the story of a million different nights and a thousand different boys on the road to discovery.   
  
_Don't let anyone catch you doing it.   
  
  
  
Hide it.   
  
  
  
Stamp it out and pretend it doesn't exist.  
  
  
  
Deny.   
  
  
  
Deny.  
  
  
  
Deny._  
  
  
  


"So...what're you doing?"  
  


"Contemplating life. Fixing the United States' economic crisis. Solving world hunger. And playin' a little solitaire." Seth rolled his chair away from the monitor and took a deep breath. He craned his neck, stretched his gangly arms over his head and yawned. "Ever get the feeling we're living in gray?"   
  


Ryan rubbed his hand over his rough cheek, let his fingers scrape at the fine blonde hair that was starting to come up. "I don't think anyone would mistake you for gray, Seth, you're far too colourful."  
  


Seth's eyes narrowed. "Was that some sort of subtle gay joke?"  
  


"No," Ryan replied flatly.   
  


"I'm not, you know. No matter what Luke says, I'm not a fag." There was determination in his eyes.   
  


Ryan sighed.  
  
_Deny.  
  
  
  
Deny.  
  
  
  
Deny.  
  
  
  
You don't have to be this way._  
  
  
  


Shrugging his shoulders, Ryan walked over to the bed and sat down. "So what if you were?"  
  


"What!?"  
  


Ryan brushed off the question. "You hungry?"  
  


"I could eat. Maybe I could get mom to make something."  
  


"They're not here."  
  


"Oh." Ryan could see the ghost of panic surfacing in Seth's eyes.   
  


He stood and placed a hand on the taller boy's back, guiding him toward the door. "We're not helpless, I think we can manage something."  
  


Through the thin cotton of his shirt, Ryan could feel the beat of his heart thudding like a jackhammer.   
  


Seth cleared his throat. His dark eyes connected with the blue of Ryan's. "H-How about pasta? Everyone likes pasta."  
  


"Sure." Ryan smiled. An actual smile with stretched lips and teeth showing and it made Seth's pulse pick up just a bit more.  
  


---

Ryan sat at the counter watching Seth's jerky movement as he scurried around the kitchen.  
  


"I'm really glad your family took me in." He sampled a piece of bread. Chewed it thoughtfully before he jumped off the stool he'd been occupying. "You're the best person I've ever known," he said, keeping his head down.  
  


Seth stopped. "What about Marissa?"  
  


Ryan's eyes were shadowed. "Marissa's sweet, but I'm not like her." He lifted his chin, taking a step closer. "We both know that. I'm like you, Seth."  
  


Seth backed up. "Like me? You're nothing like me. Hell, look at you, you're..." _Beautiful._   
  


How very Rock Hudson/James Dean, the moment had become. For shame Elizabeth Taylor wasn't there to see it.  
  


"I'm sorry, but I don't see a resemblance. I mean, I guess now that we're supposed to be brothers, I guess we're alike like that. I don't know what other way you mean." 

His eyes were stern as he moved forward cutting the space between them, but his lips curved with the hint of a smile. "Seth, you're rambling."  
  


Seth nodded profusely. "Yeah, I...tend to do that."  
  


"I don't mean like brother's," Ryan's lips were so close to his ear Seth could practically hear when the air filled in his lungs making them expand and then expel. The room was so hot, he might actually combust.   
  


Then Ryan took another step forward and swallowed the space between them.  
  


Seth eyes bulged. His groin tightened. A moment of clarity.  
  


Then his lips met the brutal roughness of Ryan's and it was heavy and weighted with longing and need. A demanding tongue entered his mouth and forced him to participate. Demanded it. Wiped the notions of denial from his veins. Cauterized the uncertainty and flushed the doubt from his pores.  
  


The sticky heat of the kitchen bathed over them, cleansing them of uncertainty and negotiation. The heart, the mind and the body cannot be talked out of what it wants while it's being fulfilled; gratified; relieved.   
  


A hundred spikes of clarity began to piston through Seth's body. And just as he eased into the kiss, as he gave up the fight and succumbed, it was over.  
  


"The water's boiling," Ryan said, and it came out husky like warm, spun silk. He pressed him against the oven, the choking heat of the flames danced against his skin--almost, but never quite-- licking him.   
  


Yeah, it was definitely boiling.   
  
  
  
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End file.
